


I Started Something I Couldn't Finish

by Das_verlorene_Kind



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Breaking the Fourth Wall, Fanfic Factory AU, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Wingfic, a bit of everything!, and some smut, angel!Pete, devil!patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 14:31:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20818865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Das_verlorene_Kind/pseuds/Das_verlorene_Kind
Summary: The intercom announces yet another shift at the Fanfiction Factory.Deep inside its realms, in room 104, sits a Patrick. One of many, many Patricks.It’s hard to keep track of time of space and time inside the Fanfiction Factory, a place that exists outside the boundaries of reality. All Patrick knows is that he’s been waiting around for a long time.And he’s getting really sick of waiting.





	I Started Something I Couldn't Finish

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, everyone! So, our little Peterick community came up with the canon of the Fanfic Factory AU - basically, a place all our characters live whenever they're not needed to act out the fics we write for them. I've had great fun with that idea, and then it snowballed into this 8k fic. Life is weird sometimes, huh.  
Thanks to Glitterandrocketfuel for setting up the collection and bringing these ideas to life with the rest of the lovely chat, and thanks to Snitches for Beta reading! 
> 
> Artwork done by me.

The intercom announces yet another shift at the Fanfiction Factory.

Deep inside its realms, in room 104, sits a Patrick. One of many, many Patricks.

This Patrick is dreamed up as an incarnation of the ever-so popular Soul Punk phase. The fan favorite’s devil costume, except on this Patrick, it’s more than a costume – he is the real deal, he is the _ real _ devil himself. Or, well, one of the few devils already running around here, but still.

Bleach-blond hair, blood- red suit, and black eyeliner. Fingerless gloves, sock garters, and an elegant bow-tie. Painted nails, large wings, and real horns. A poetic aesthetic full of clever imagery and references, Patrick is dressed to kill, and he’s ready to go live his story.

Except this Patrick’s story never gets written.

It’s hard to keep track of time of space and time inside the Fanfiction Factory, a place that exists outside the boundaries of reality. All Patrick knows is that he’s been waiting around for a long time.

And he’s getting really sick of waiting.

“Fuck, I _ hate _ this place.” Frustrated, Patrick kicks the white wall he’s so tired of staring at. It doesn’t even leave a dent, just a vague pain in his toes which are already suffering from the ridiculously uncomfortable dress shoes he has to wear.

At the other side of the room, his Pete sends him a sympathetic look. Not only does he have pop culture-influenced angel aesthetics, this iteration of Pete seems to be blessed with an endless and quite frankly infuriating amount of heavenly patience. He simply smiles and says: “Don’t worry, dear. We’ll be out here one day.”

Imagined as the angelic counterpart to the devilish Patrick, his Pete has beautiful white wings, a golden halo, and a serene facial expression taken right from a kitschy painting. He is dressed in an elegant black shirt, pants, and a matching vest, unusually tasteful for a Pete of his era. The emo bangs fall perfectly into his beautiful brown eyes, adorned with as much eyeliner as Patrick’s. Why an angel would need eyeliner, Patrick can only speculate. Then again, whoever had this glorious idea also equipped angel Pete with a giant sword, and Patrick cannot imagine a single alternative universe in which a Pete should be entrusted with sharp objects. Although Patrick can’t deny he kind of likes that his own AU sees him equipped with a giant scythe.

Now, if only they ever actually got to _ use _ their props.

Patrick sighs to himself, pinches the bridge of his nose. “How can you be so sure we’ll ever get to leave this place?”

“Because our story is going to be amazing, my dear.” Pete smiles, again, ever so patient which yeah, continues to be really annoying right now. Sometimes, Patrick would like to trade him for one of the abandoned broody emo ones that just write poetry and frown all day. But no, _ his _ Pete doesn’t console him by indulging in his anger and self pity. _ His _ Pete is all sunshine and optimism and as much as Patrick thinks that’s kind of adorable, as pretty as Pete’s smile looks on his very kissable lips, it’s hard to bear his excitement when Patrick has given up hope long ago.

“Is it now? And how do you know that, hm?” Patrick’s sarcasm is half-hearted, given he already knows the answer – that there isn’t any. They never got to act out any part of their story, because there isn’t any. Just a vague draft, a few descriptive sentences, the rough outline of a supposed story. Since there’s nothing to do for them, Patrick doesn’t know what they’ll be doing at all. Vague drafts and concepts don’t get handed out to the characters, they’ll have to wait until actual writing is done, which, in his less optimistic moments, Patrick suspects is never going to happen.

“I just know,” Pete says sweetly, and he sounds like he’s very convinced of his own words. Unlike Patrick, who just sighs to himself, and stares up to the speakers at the wall, waiting to have their names announced.

Unsurprisingly, their shift ends once more without that ever happening.

Room 104 is the room relegated to the lost souls, and everyone knows. No one wants to end up in room 104, ever.

Dozens of Petes and Patricks are swarming the halls, eager to pick up on their daily duties. Cards with instructions and their scripts are passed out to everyone lucky enough to have a responsible author writing their story.

By now, Patrick isn’t hurt or disappointed anymore when, as usual, he comes up empty-handed. Another shift, supposedly without anything to do.

Sometimes, characters get called in mid-shift to jump into their stories. Sometimes, there’s spontaneous inspiration, headcanons, a slip-up in bureaucracy.

By now, Patrick doesn’t wait for their names and number to get called anymore. Another shift, most likely without anything to do.

Sometimes, the lost and abandoned Petes and Patricks still have hope. Not the ones in room 104.

Basically, everyone in here is about at far into their story as Patrick and his Pete. As in, they mostly know nothing. The few ones lucky enough to have acted out a few paragraphs, maybe even a chapter or two, haven’t had an update in forever. Once in a while, they cross over to the neighboring room, with the Petes and Patricks officially on hiatus, or, most dreaded of all, they leave – their stories deleted, forgotten, doomed to never be written.

Still, better than being stuck in this hellish limbo. Patrick scoffs at his own oh-so-clever comparison, before he stares down at his porridge again. He takes his time with eating, he’s going to sit around all day anyway, might as well drag out the meal time. The only good thing about room 104 is that his Pete will be there, all happy and enthusiastic as ever, looking more gorgeous than any angel Pete incarnation has the right to look.

Now, if only Patrick ever got to do something with his Pete that isn’t waiting around for something to do.

Across the table sits a young, starry-eyed Patrick from one of the high school AUs, looking at Patrick’s bleached hair and sharp cheekbones with amazement. “You’re really giving me hope, you know that?” The kid sighs as he tugs at his knitted hat half-hiding the terrible cut done by his fanfic mom. “One day, I could look like you and all the other blond Patricks.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if this translates well into real everyday life,” Patrick answers the younger version, trying not to roll his eyes. “And I’m in a fantasy fic, kiddo. I don’t need to maintain the bleach job, and from what I can guess, even the angels wear eyeliner.”

The high school Patrick mumbles something under his breath, tugs at his hat again. He’s also wearing wrist-bands, a now almost-forgotten accessory that apparently used to be very popular with the younger Patricks.

“You look great,” Patrick tells him, and wonders how many layers of awkwardness a compliment to a younger version of himself (well, kind of) from another alternative universe entails. “What, is your Pete giving you shit? Is he being a dick? Should I beat him up?”

Patrick points to his giant scythe, which the prop department makes him drag around at all times. While he won’t (and can’t) kill or seriously harm any of the characters in this peaceful realm of the Fanfiction Factory, it is still the perfect weapon to beat up an unruly Pete. And there are a lot of them, just itching to start a fight with any of the annoyed Patricks with a short temper.

“Nah, my Pete’s awesome,” high school Patrick says around a mouthful of porridge, “actually, we got to kiss in the last chapter. Our relationship is canon now – makes being here a lot easier...”

Canon is a word Patrick has come to dread. Canon not only sets up the rules for their respective AUs, it also sets up the rules for the Fanfiction Factory – if it hasn’t happened in the story, it can’t happen in the Factory either. Which leaves a lot of (sexually) frustrated Petes and Patricks walking these halls. Seeing a “Slow Burn” tag on one’s card is always a sure way to cause outrage and blue balls, as well as jealous stares towards the Petes and Patricks lucky enough to have established relationships, or to at least get a kiss or a hatefuck.

And that is not to speak of the Petes and Patricks unlucky enough to have their story interrupted during sex. Patrick knows several of them who’ve had one or multiple fingers up their ass for days, had to lay, sit, or kneel with a dick in their mouth forever, or have been abandoned mid-penetration, all of which make for awkward conditions when they’re called back from the Factory into their fics.

This Patrick sighs to himself, and abandons any thoughts about sex. He doesn’t even know if he’s ever going to be scheduled to go that far with his Pete. Canonically, they haven’t even kissed yet. It’s kind of annoying – no, _ agonizing _ actually – that all they ever get to do is sit around and maybe exchange some banter, when really, Patrick would like to shut Pete up by pressing his lips against Pete’s (he’s heard that’s quite a common method to shut up the Petes).

High school Patrick finishes his porridge, and sighs heartily. “We’re due for some dry-humping today,” he says with a smile as he holds up his card, “tags have been updated, and our rating has changed from T to M. I can’t wait until we get there...”

“Get where? Off?” A young Pete now chides in with a big grin. The Pete slings his arm around high school Patrick’s shoulder, drags him in for a kiss. Several other Patricks around them eye them with either approval or annoyance and a hint of jealousy, while the few Petes around mostly give a thumbs up or whistle. “Came to pick you up for today’s schedule,” high school Pete now says, wagging his eyebrows. “Ready for some action, Tricky-Dicky?”

Patrick shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose while the high school Patrick actually laughs as he gets up to join his Pete. Some of the younger Patricks are feisty little brats, but some are just disgustingly sweet and endearing.

“Have fun,” Patrick shouts after them, and it comes out less sarcastic and more envious than he imagined. One of the Mania Patricks nearby sends him a frown, slightly shakes his head, no doubt seeing through the badly acted indifference. God, why must most other Patricks always be this judgmental?

Another day, another shift spent staring at the bland white walls of room 104, waiting for things that will never come. Honestly, Patrick wouldn’t even bother showing up anymore were it not for Pete insisting that maybe, today could be the day, and that no, they can’t sneak out and abandon their duties, they need to be here just in case they finally, finally get called into their fic. And Patrick can’t really bring himself to destroy Pete’s endless optimism. Besides, since their relationship isn’t canon, their working shifts are all the time they get together.

“Sing me a song?” Pete, laying on the floor (on his stomach, otherwise his wings get in the way) looks at Patrick with wide eyes and an excited grin.

Patrick, sitting next to him on the floor, hums to himself, strums over the strings of his guitar. They have to pass the time somehow, and they are Petes and Patricks, after all. Making music is a default favorite activity, no matter how fantastical their AU gets. At least they’re allowed _ some _ entertainment while they wait around. It gets harder and harder to find the motivation to do so given the endless time of nothingness they face, and sometimes, Patrick would like to just stare at the white walls and do nothing. But Pete is a Pete, he’s always full of pent-up energy and ideas, and Patrick is a Patrick, too stubborn to give up for real.

It's almost nice, to sit around with Pete, being in their own little bubble as Patrick sings him a song. The only downside is that once the song ends, they’re still trapped within the damn Fanfic Factory, in the same room as always, with no advancements made to their story.

“Think we get to do this in our AU as well?” Pete props his head on his hands, the shimmer of his halo giving his eyes and smile even more of a golden glimmer. “I’m an angel, so maybe I get to play the harp. Or a bass with wings...”

Patrick sighs quietly, reaches out his gloved hand to run through Pete’s black emo fringe. Given their extravagant looks and mythological origins, he kind of doubts that their story leaves them much time to sit around and make music. Although this is a plot point in many of the other fics around them, given they are Petes and Patricks, Patrick doesn’t have high hopes.

Which is kind of sad. Patrick has grown to like to just be around Pete, talk, make jokes, some music, speculate about what their lives will be like outside of room 104. He may be the devil, but Patrick doesn’t feel like actually being one at all. Especially after having talked to some of the other devil Patricks (the actual ones, not the Patricks just dressed up) and finding that running Hell can be a very complicated and morally dubious mess, not to mention result in a lot of angst and conflict.

Well, but Patrick has the wings and the horns and his giant scythe, he’s written to be the devil, so that’s what he’s going to act like – if he’s ever going to act out his story at all.

“I’d love that,” Patrick says despite everything, “it would be nice if we got to hang out like this in our actual fic.”

“We’ll have fun,” Pete says with a big grin, “and you’ll be the most tempting devil ever.”

“Yeah, sure,” Patrick scoffs as he puts the guitar away.

Pete scoots closer, rests his head on Patrick’s now empty lap. That’s as much non-canon intimacy as they can get, and Patrick tries his best not to think of anything else involving Pete’s head in his lap. “Okay, I lied,” Pete hums, his grin widening, “you already are the most tempting devil.”

“Am not,” Patrick tries to insist rather weakly, “I’m not even the only Soul Punk Devil around here...”

“I don’t care for any other Patrick. You’re the only one that matters to me, my dear.” Pete sounds so sweet and honest, it makes Patrick smile the same way all the other lovesick Patricks smile at their respective Petes.

Now, if only Patrick ever got to act on these feelings.

The bell on the intercom announces the end of yet another pointless shift, and this time, Patrick has had enough. His Pete, dutiful as ever (unlike most of the other Petes), is ready to resume ordinary life at the Fanfic Factory and retreat to the Pete sector, before Patrick can hold him back. Pete looks confused, but he stays behind, waits until everyone else has left the room for the night. Some get to spend it with each other, some have company of side characters, or they’re as unlucky as most of room 104 and have to wait in solitude. Inside their stories or not, canon still dictates their lives to a certain extent.

Eerie silence settles now that everyone is gone; nothing but faint whispers of distant voices can be heard.

“We should go, too,” Pete says in an anxious voice, his white wings flapping nervously. In the dim lights, his halo glows golden, a soft light illuminating his pretty face. He’s clutching the hilt of his ridiculous sword in his right hand, and as always, it looks like he’s way more likely to hurt himself with that than anyone else. Their author hopefully didn’t have anything heroic or dignified for him in mind, because as angelic and endearing as Pete looks, it’s going to be a hard sell.

Patrick shakes his head. “I am so fucking tired of this place,” he growls in a low voice, although no one is around to hear them anyway. “And I am so tired of waiting around. We finally need to do something.”

“But what? We can’t do anything until our author writes something to actually do for us!”

With a devilish grin on his lips, Patrick leans in closer, and whispers: “Well, then. At least let us take a look at what we might get to do.”

Pete blinks, confused for a moment, before the meaning of these words dawns on him. “You mean we should…?”

“Look at the draft,” Patrick finishes the sentence for him. “Hell yes. We exist, so somewhere, something has to be written about us. Snippets, maybe even a complete outline, I don’t care. I just want to know.”

Pete bites his lip, looks away. He’s trying to do the right thing, which is remarkable especially given that he’s a Pete, but Patrick is an impatient devil and this is not the right time to follow the rules.

“Come on, aren’t you curious?” Patrick drops his voice to a low, sultry tone, cocks his head to look at Pete with big blue eyes framed by long lashes and dramatic eyeliner. “You’re a Pete, you’re meant to be at least a little rebellious! And don’t you want to know what happens to us?”

“Yeah, I kind of want to know,” Pete admits with a sigh, and when his eyes meet Patrick’s, curiosity and determination have replaced the hesitancy.

Patrick grins, and grabs his own prop. “Great, then it’s settled. Let’s go and find out.”

After the last shift, only darkness and silence linger in the seemingly endless corridors of the Fanfic Factory building. They dropped off their props, but instead of retreating to their respective rooms, they’re out to venture to the Draft Vault.

Patrick bravely marches through the eerie gloomy halls, ignoring how his heart pounds in his chest upon the forbidden thrill. The only sources of light are the faint glow of Pete’s halo, and a tiny flame in Patrick’s right hand – turns out, having somewhat unspecified devil traits can have its advantages. He has to act tough, both for his wavering confidence as well as for his Pete, who’s two steps behind him, utterly anxious and jumping at the slightest noise.

Patrick doesn’t know what to expect. Maybe, the walls will close in on them, or the ground opens to swallow them up and spit them back out into their rooms or perhaps into a much scarier place than this, maybe the door will fall shut to leave them trapped in purgatory forever. Patrick swallows, right hand forming a fist to enhance the little flame, while his left gloved hand rakes through his bleach-blond hair and traces over his horns. He’s the goddamn devil – okay, one of the many devil Patricks, but whatever – he isn’t one of the compliant goody two-shoes Patricks, and he deserves the answer to his burning questions, and so does his Pete. They deserve to know where their story is going.

The metal door of the draft vault is cold under his touch. A shiver runs down Patrick’s spine, makes him shudder as his wings involuntarily jerk. Still, Patrick is determined, pushes against it and tries to open the door. While there’s no alarm blaring through the intercom, no ground opening up to swallow him or any other catastrophe happening upon touching the forbidden door, it still doesn’t open, no matter how hard Patrick pushes against it. For a second, Pete hesitates, before he helps. Together, they’re able to open the imposing metal door. Behind it lies nothing but darkness and an air of danger.

Slowly, they walk in together, each step careful and anxious, like maybe, the ground will open up after all, or someone might drag them into the darkness and out of the realms of reality. The flame in Patrick’s right hand isn’t enough to illuminate more than a tiny fraction of the giant hall. Pete reaches for Patrick’s other hand, squeezes it reassuringly, a small but thoughtful gesture that makes Patrick smile and forget some of his worries. They have a right to know, and what’s the harm in taking a little peek?

Everything is in meticulous order, and finding their fic case file doesn’t take too long. It’s still stored in the front, as if there’s still hope the author ever returns to it, and maybe a dash of plot magic from the Plot Convenience and Contrivances room next door helps them out for once.

“We shouldn’t look at this,” Pete whispers as he clutches the generic brown case file in his hands.

“We came this far, we’re reading it,” Patrick says stubbornly as he reaches for the case file. “I am, at least. You don’t have to if you don’t want to...”

Pete says nothing, but peeks over Patrick’s shoulder, the soft golden glow of his halo and the flickering light of the flame in Patrick’s right hand illuminating the paper.

As expected, it’s all half-finished sentences strewn across the page. Some are detailing their looks, there are a few remarks to their personality, buzzwords and tags like _ SP!devil!Patrick _ and _ wingfic _, none of which come as a surprise.

“Ah, we’re rated E,” Patrick says with a smirk as his finger traces over the paper as he reads along. “Huh. And it says _ Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings_...”

Just as Patrick is about to take a closer look at the other tags, Pete gasps with horror. “Patrick, look at this,” he says, shaky voice muffled behind his hand, and he points to a paragraph at the end of the page, further down in the outline.

Patrick squints his eyes as he skips ahead to where Pete’s finger is currently pointing at. He skips over the boring exposition and more elaborate descriptions of their looks in the outline, and then his eyes widen in shock, too.

“_They fight, and angel!Pete leaves devil!Patrick badly injured,_” Patrick reads out, and just saying it makes him shudder. There are more details, something about them fighting with their respective weapons, sword and scythe clashing together, pain and blood, but Patrick doesn’t feel like reading that out loud as well.

“I _ hurt _ you,” Pete whispers weakly, with horror in his eyes as he trails over the gruesome details of their fight in the outline. “I’m going to hurt you in this fic...”

Patrick swallows, his heart beating too fast. That’s just silly – Pete wouldn’t hurt him. _ His _ Pete at least would never do that. All it takes is one look at the little angel next to him, pretty face illuminated by the golden glow of his halo, shaking and outraged just at the mere mention of violence, to know that he’d never raise a hand or his sword against anyone.

“This is preposterous. There has to be some kind of explanation,” Patrick declares angrily, and he’s determined to flip to the next page to read whatever might come next. It has to be a dream sequence, a bad nightmare, anything...

“No. I don’t want to look at this anymore,” Pete mumbles, and with that, he turns around on his heels, ready to leave. The air draft of his big white wings traces over Patrick’s skin, and he can catch a stifled sob as Pete marches out of the Draft Vault. Patrick hastily tucks the case file back into its place, then runs after him.

The faint golden light of Pete’s halo is their only source of light now as Patrick catches up to him, grabs his wrist. Pete stops, but doesn’t turn around to face him.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Pete wipes over his eyes, probably smudging his eyeliner.

“I know you don’t. I don’t want to hurt you either,” Patrick assures him. He thinks of their weapons that prop provided them with, and somehow, they don’t seem all that harmless and silly anymore. “Maybe… Maybe it’s just for the plot? For character development? Or we will get some hurt/comfort? Maybe it all pays off, and we live happily ever after…?”

Pete shrugs, and Patrick lets go of his wrist. Patrick anxiously waits for an answer as the silence of the empty halls grows thicker and heavier with each second. “I never should’ve been here in the first place,” Pete mumbles eventually, finally turns his head a little to look at Patrick as. “I should go...”

In the dim light of his halo, Pete looks sad and scared. It breaks Patrick’s heart to see him like this; sure, they’ve had their banter, and Patrick might be a devil, but this is Pete, _ his _ Pete, a little emo angel with ridiculous yet endearing looks, the trademark braying laugh, and beautiful brown eyes that have been looking at Patrick with nothing but excitement as he patiently waited for their story to allow them to act on their feelings. No, Patrick can’t allow anyone to hurt him. Not some author who forgot to write their story, not the Fanfic Factory sending them into their AU to go fight each other even though by now, it’s totally out of character.

“Don’t go,” Patrick whispers, but Pete shakes his head and turns away from him again.

Patrick watches him walk away, the glow of his halo getting smaller and smaller before it vanishes as Pete disappears into another corridor. Patrick conjures up another flame in the palm of his hand to battle the darkness of the Factory halls, and while it is bright enough that Patrick can safely make his way back to his room, the metaphorical path in front of him still leads in pitch-black darkness.

The intercom announces the next shift.

Patrick sighs to himself, before he pushes his empty plate away. He’s brooding and anxious, and all the happy Patricks around him feel like a personal insult.

For the first time, he can’t find Pete in room 104.

Pete always shows up. He’s always dressed up and ready and insists that maybe, today is the day, and they can’t afford to miss it. Patrick sits in one of the chairs, arms crossed, nervously tapping his feet. Two Petes (who for some reason belong to the same AU, as if one Pete wouldn’t be enough) look at him with curiosity, no doubt wondering why Patrick is alone today. He’s never been here without his counterpart angel Pete. Patrick scowls at them and they scowl right back, but they get the hint and don’t bother him.

The dreadful waiting time is so worse without Pete. As much as his endless optimism seems silly sometimes, as much as Patrick likes to indulge in the role of the skeptic, in the end, he really misses having his Pete around. It’s no fun to be a dramatic, sarcastic devil Patrick without the angel Pete around to play off on.

Patrick decides he’s had enough. They won’t get called in anyway, so he might as well use the time and look for his Pete. His absence is worrisome, especially after last night’s shenanigans. Patrick hesitates, then decides to take his prop with him nonetheless as he leaves the room.

“Good luck,” one of the two Petes says to him, and the other Pete gives him a smile and a thumbs up. They too seem to share the endless confidence of Patrick’s own Pete, which makes him smile and wave before the door falls shut behind him.

Still, Patrick wishes he wouldn’t need the good luck wishes in the first place.

The Pete sector is a weird place to be. Patrick hasn’t been here very often, he prefers to stay with the other Patricks or maybe some of the nicer side characters.

It’s chaos, even more chaos than the other sectors; no wonder, given it’s a bunch of Petes left to their own devices in a world between the worlds, a realm of existence where actions have little confidence and everyone of them is surrounded by Petes with the exact same love for terrible, terrible ideas.

Patrick finds his Pete in the back of the hall, designated to the creatures varying on the scale of Monsterfuckery. The vampire Petes have their own gang, but there’s a bunch of other weird Petes here, too. Patrick has seen everything from demons, ghosts and gremlins to mermen, fairies and elves to cat ears, werewolves and puppies. Not to mention the A/B/O Petes and Patricks strewn into the mix, sometimes combined with other aforementioned monster traits.

Patrick’s angel Pete is sitting on a bench, arms resting on the table in front of him, head turned to the other characters surrounding him. A pair of YBC Pete and Patricks is currently talking to him, the Patrick gesturing wildly with the hook that replaces his right hand.

“It’s atrocious,” the YBC Patrick says, and his eyes flash to a bright yellow to show his anger. “Us Patricks always have to endure the worst. It’s so tiresome to be the whumpee all the time.”

“I know it wasn’t me who cut off Patrick’s hand, but… It is kind of heartbreaking and devastating to be responsible. If he never met me...,” the YBC Pete philosophies, but Patrick interrupts him by shoving him aside to get to his own Pete.

“Can you all leave my poor Pete alone?” Patrick asks angrily as he sits down next to the angel, takes his hand. His Pete still looks anxious and overwhelmed, and he hasn’t said anything so far.

The YBC Patrick glares angrily at them, his eyes still an uncanny yellow. The dried blood he’s drenched in kind of doesn’t help to make him less terrifying. “We are trying to help.”

“Do you know any details about the fight?” YBC Pete asks cautiously. “You better hope the author finishes it as soon as possible. We once were abandoned in the middle of a gory angsty scene, and then our author just didn’t come back. And my stomach was cut open! I had to carry the guts that spilled out of it with me for weeks. Sure, I can’t feel pain here, but it was still super annoying and highly inconvenient...”

“That’s _ not _ helping,” Patrick and his YBC incarnation say simultaneously, while his angel Pete just stares in horror at Patrick like he too might spill his guts or bleed to death spontaneously. The sword propped up next to Pete looks a lot more terrifying now.

“You think _ you’re _ suffering? Have you seen _ me_?” Another Patrick chides in; he seems to be of the SRAR era as well, although not a YBC version. Instead of bloodied clothes, he wears a pastel-pink shirt with baby-blue letters spelling _ Daddy’s Little Cum Slut_, complete with a skirt and knee socks, topped off with a pink pacifier hanging on a chain around his neck, contrasting the black leather collar.

There are general noises of agreement aside from one of the werewolf Petes, who is wearing a somewhat similar outfit and is kept on an actual leash by his counterpart Patrick. “I like it,” that Pete says, lipgloss-sticky lips smiling sweetly, “I’ll take the shirt if you don’t want it!”

Pastel Pink Patrick flips him off, and Patrick is once more very grateful he gets to wear a somewhat dignified suit. And Pastel Pink Patrick’s outfit isn’t even the worst so far – Patrick has been here a while, and he’s seen some shit he can never forget.

With that, a more general discussions about kinks and canon breaks out among the Petes and Patricks, which thankfully enables Patrick to finally talk to his Pete without the interference of unhelpful and unrelated characters.

“Are you okay?” Patrick asks over the noise of the others. “You didn’t show up for our shift today...”

“I didn’t want to,” Pete answers, his voice almost lost in the chaos among them. “I was scared that we’d get called in, and… I don’t want to take part in such a dark story.”

“Come on,” Patrick says, trying to play it down, “like we’d ever get called in.”

That doesn't appear to be too reassuring for Pete.

“You know what? We should take another look,” Patrick proposes in a hushed voice, anxiously looking around although everyone around them is too busy being Petes and Patricks to notice them. “Whatever reason we fight for, there has to be an explanation, and there’s more story afterwards. Maybe, it will pay off. Look, a lot of the other characters have to suffer through certain scenes, life isn’t always easy. Unless you’re starring in a fluff fic, I guess. Anyway, narration needs tension and drama, but I am sure we will get something good out of it.”

“You think so?” Pete sounds hesitant, which doesn't fit his usual optimism and confidence about their story at all. It’s Patrick who gets to lean back and play the part of the skeptic, while Pete is the one who, despite all the banter, stays the hopeful dreamer. It makes Patrick feel bad, because being the supportive one is quite the emotional labor, which he’s just taken for granted from his Pete.

“I think so,” Patrick therefore says, squeezing Pete’s hand. “We deserve to know what we’re getting into. And hey, it could be worse.” He nods towards Pastel Pink Patrick, currently arguing with a vampire Pete. “I could be wearing that guy’s outfit.”

Pete chuckles, and then nods. “Let’s do it,” he says with a sparkle of mischief in his amber eyes, “let’s see the rest of our story.”

The intercom announces the end of the last shift. Characters are swarming the place, getting ready for the night, with no one paying attention to one of the devil Patricks sneaking out to meet with his angel Pete.

Once more, they’re wandering through the dark and abandoned corridors of the Fanfic Factory with nothing but Pete’s halo and a small flame in Patrick’s hand as a source of light. This time, Pete is less anxious, and more excited.

It goes as smoothly as the first time – no hands extend from the darkness to drag them into fictional hell, no alarm blares through the intercom, no door refuses to open. The draft is still tucked into its designated corner, and Pete and Patrick reach for it at the same time.

When they open the first page – the only one they read the last time – Patrick hesitates. “We can stop,” he whispers, but Pete shakes his head.

“No. I want to know,” Pete insists, and turns to the next page.

“Look at this. I do heal,” Patrick says with as much optimism as he can muster. “Most of the YBC Patricks have it worse.”

Pete makes a non-commital noise as he reads over the other parts of the draft, loose plot threads, and then an actual sex scene to earn them their E rating.

It’s… Patrick doesn't want to judge it before it’s written, but the outline doesn't sound too promising. It sees Patrick as the tempting devil, seducing Pete, leading to a very angsty sex scene in which, from what Patrick can gather, sex happens _ to _ him rather than _ with _ him, no matter the initial role as a supposed seducer.

“You are the big bad devil, tempting me into angsty violent sex,” Pete sums it up, sounding incredulous.

Patrick rolls his kohl-smeared eyes. “I’m not bad. I was just imagined that way.”

“This sounds pretty terrible,” Pete says quietly. “This isn’t how I imagined it at all. I’d never do any of this!”

“Me neither. I’m not a cheap plot device for bad sex!”

For the first time, Patrick sees his Pete really, really angry. The paper crumbles up in his hands as he clutches them into fists, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Fuck this,” the angel declares with an uncharacteristic swear, “fuck all of this, and let’s hope we never get called in to act out this garbage!”

With that, Pete tosses the folder aside, paper scattered over the floor, and turns around to leave. Patrick hastily shoves back the papers and folder lest someone notices their shenanigans after all, before he runs after Pete.

“Wait, Pete! Don’t just leave. Come with me.” The words are out before Patrick can overthink them. “We’ve both been separated by bullshit rules for long enough.”

“Spending a night together?” Pete sounds uncertain, yet not uninterested. “But that’s not canon...”

“To hell with canon,” Patrick says angrily, and when he stomps his foot, a tiny flame sparks from the ground. “You and I have been patient all this time, and what for? Canon is awful! And you’re scared and anxious and I can’t bear to see you like this. So, I’m going to comfort you, no matter what some stupid outline of some stupid fic says I should be doing.”

“You’re just as anxious,” Pete points out, always with a keen eye to whatever emotion Patrick likes to hide. “As you should be. Apparently, our story holds nothing good in it for either of us...”

“To hell with canon. Come with me,” Patrick repeats, without any clever tricks or flirtatious undertone. His words are simple and honest, he means them, and he wants nothing more than to convince Pete of that.

After what seems like an eternity, reaches out for Patrick’s hand. The halo illuminates the soft smile on his pretty lips as he says: “Alright, dear. Take me with you.”

They hold hands as they walk back in silence, the shimmer of Pete’s halo the only source of light in the eerie darkness of the night.

Patrick’s room is as generic and nondescript as any of the other rooms. It’s meant to be temporary, after all, they’re all just passing through and hopefully end up in their own alternative universe once their fic is done. It holds the bare necessities, a wardrobe filled with about a dozen sets of the damn red suit (since it’s the only clothes ever mentioned in the draft so far), some instruments provided by Patricks long gone, and it only deviates from the norm by being bigger and more accommodating to Patrick’s wings.

Pete sighs, sits down on the bed. Patrick sits down next to him, unsure what to say or do. For a while, they stay quiet, the ominous words outlining their terrible fate in their story dancing before their inner eye.

“I’ve waited so long for our story to start, and now it turns out, I hate it so much that I wish we won’t ever get called in to act it out.” Pete wipes over his teary eyes, smearing eyeliner down his cheek. “Why would our author ever write something so terrible for us?”

Patrick shrugs helplessly. “Who knows. Not all stories can be happy, I guess. And maybe, when we were conceived, we actually matched our characters in the story. But… We’ve been on our own for so long that we are just no longer what our author imagined us to be.”

“What do we do now?” Pete whispers anxiously.

Silence settles between them once more. Pete reaches for Patrick’s hand, a comforting and welcoming gesture, although now that he finally has Pete in his bed, Patrick would love to do a whole lot more. Too many lonely nights were spent imagining things, hoping someone else would makes his wishes come true, and Patrick is so fucking tired of it.

“You know what?” Patrick finally says, “we do whatever the fuck we want to.”

At first, Pete looks surprised; then, a mischievous grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “And what is is you want, dear?” He asks, badly faking innocence as he stares at Patrick’s mouth, puts a hand on Patrick’s thigh, with clear intent.

“You,” Patrick growls, and with that, he finally closes the distance between them for a kiss.

It is both amazing and anti-climatic at once. Finally, after all this time, he gets to kiss his Pete, against all the rules – and yet, nothing happens, no one comes to chastise them, the intercom doesn’t call for an angry mob to come and hunt them down. Maybe, there will be consequences eventually, but right now, now that he’s finally kissing Pete, Patrick couldn’t care less.

“Damnit, we should have done this much sooner,” Pete whispers, and then further talk is abandoned in favor of more kisses. Soon enough, Patrick is straddling Pete’s lap, hands fumbling with his shirt. Meanwhile, Pete struggles a bit with the bow tie.

“You have no idea how tired I am of this damn suit,” Patrick mumbles as he undoes the bow tie for Pete, unbuttons the first button of his shirt before Pete’s hands take over undressing him again.

The bow tie is thrown to the floor, together with the red suit jacket and, a moment later, both their shirts.

“It suits you well,” Pete hums as he undoes Patrick’s belt. It’s honest and sweet (though, Patrick wouldn’t rely on a Pete to judge anyone’s fashion sense) and Patrick can even forgive the terrible pun.

“And I am so tired of these,” Patrick growls as he tugs at Pete’s tight black pants, “get them off, would you?”

Of course, Pete doesn’t need to be asked twice. “I plan on getting off more than just these pants,” he says with a big grin as he shimmies out of them.

Patrick grins back, half scorn, half seduction. “You better deliver on that promise.”

Now that they’re finally naked, Patrick reaches out a hand, takes a moment just to trace over inked skin, marvel at Pete’s beauty he’s been longing to uncover for so long now. Pete does the same, hands trailing over Patrick’s body, leaving goosebumps and making Patrick sigh. Soon, Patrick has Pete laying in his bed, Patrick towering over him, pressing eager, open-mouthed kisses from his throat down to his nipples, his hand now on Pete’s hard, hot cock.

“How do we do this?” Patrick asks breathlessly, trying to be rational when the long-awaited kisses and touches are making it nearly impossible to think straight. “I’m not just a bad devil, I’m not just asking for it, I’m not a passive plot device...”

Pete interrupts the kisses to look up to Patrick. “I know you aren’t,” he says softly, “we both know you aren’t. And we do this however we want to.”

Patrick takes a deep breath to steady himself, then goes for a small smirk. “Well. What I want to do is blow you.”

With satisfaction, he notices how Pete’s dick in his hand twitches with anticipation, while Pete stares at him with huge brown eyes. “I totally want that as well,” he manages to bring out, before further words are traded for one last passionate kiss, then moans as Patrick trails down from Pete’s lips to his groin. He makes sure to make a little show out of it, sucks at Pete’s nipples some more, licks over the bartskull tattoo until Pete groans impatiently. And really, they’ve both waited long enough.

Patrick leans in closer, tongue trailing over Pete’s shaft, which elicits the sweetest little sigh and then, the most delicious noises from Pete as Patrick finally takes Pete’s cock into his mouth, tastes the bittersweet salt and musk, tastes and feels Pete. _ His _ Pete, and his alone.

“Ah, this is…!” Pete is about as articulate as Patrick would be in his situation; he’s stuttering nonsense, mumbles praise and adoration, low and gentle and with his voice full of lust. Patrick smirks around Pete’s cock, before he takes it in even further. Pete cries out with pleasure as the head of his dick hits the back of Patrick’s throat, and the noise goes straight to Patrick’s own cock. Patrick fleetingly thanks the fanfic universe for not only giving him what most Petes regularly refer to as blowjob lips, but also granting him these amazing and highly convenient deepthroating abilities.

It feels so good to finally leave behind the stupid restrictions pushed onto them by this stupid Fanfic Factory, and to finally be able to physically express his attraction to Pete. Be that kisses, or this very blowjob.

Patrick draws away from Pete’s dick with a wet sound, causing Pete groan again as he sits up and sends Patrick a questioning look.

“I want you to come for me, dear,” Patrick growls, his voice low and rough from the unusual strain of deep-throating Pete’s dick, “and when you do, I am going to swallow every last drop of it.”

“Oh, Patrick, _ fuck _,” is all Pete manages to bring out before Patrick takes his spit-slick cock back into his mouth. Patrick feels Pete’s hands trailing over his horns, then carding through his bleach-blond hair, carefully. Pete doesn’t pull, he’s not the type to play rough, but it feels rather nice just like this.

Any further thoughts are abandoned when Patrick wraps a hand around his own dick, moans around Pete’s dick as he strokes over his own aching length.

“Patrick, fuck,” Pete repeats in a high-pitched moan, before a shiver runs through his body and he arches his back, then comes with a cry. Just as promised, Patrick tries his best to swallow it all, savor every drop, and for the most part, it works as he imagined it. When he finally withdraws his mouth, Pete is a boneless, breathless mess, and Patrick grins as he licks his lips, wipes away a bit of spit and semen from his chin.

Patrick watches as Pete slowly comes down from his aftershock; he’s still hard, cock throbbing in his hand, but he wants to enjoy this moment a little longer. Pete stretches his limbs, wings flapping a little before folding back, and sighs heartily as he sends Patrick a big grin. Then, Pete’s gaze drops down to Patrick’s dick, still hard and aching for relief.

“Let me, fuck, please let _ me _ get you off,” Pete demands hungrily as he sits up, amber eyes fixed on Patrick’s cock, blood-red and a nice contrast to the pale fingers wrapped around it.

Well, no way Patrick is going to say no to that offer. He sinks into the pillows, and Pete motions him to lay on his stomach. Patrick does, despite his aching erection being eager for Pete’s tempting mouth. Said mouth presses kisses from the base of Patrick’s spine down to the swell of his ass, tongue trailing over the right cheek, before Patrick feels Pete’s hands spreading him open. For a moment, Pete hesitates, seems to wait for a sign from Patrick whether to go on or not.

Patrick answers that unsaid question by getting on all fours, arching his back, and growling: “Don’t stop…!”

And Pete doesn’t have to be asked twice. Patrick can picture the dirty grin on Pete’s face as he leans closer, hot breath ghosting over Patrick’s skin, leaving him shivering. Then, his tongue licks a broad stripe over Patrick’s rim, teasing his hole, making Patrick moan into the already sweat-damp pillow. He reaches for his cock again; it’s leaking precum over Patrick’s fingers already as Pete’s tongue drags over the tight pucker once more.

Pete stops with the teasing now, and goes all in with eating Patrick out. Fuck, and Patrick is thanking all the Fanfic Gods for making his angel Pete be so fucking good at rimjobs. And when Pete rests the pad of his fingers against Patrick’s spit-wet hole, all Patrick can do is arch his back and mutter “yes, Pete, c’mon, do it!”

The stretch is weird at first, it’s not the same as when Patrick has tried it himself on the many lonely nights spent in this goddamn Fanfic Factory – this is Pete, finally doing something Patrick has dreamed of for so long. They’re both a little nervous at first, Pete being overly slow and cautious while Patrick needs a while to relax, but once the tension is gone and Pete has found Patrick’s prostate, all inhibitions are forgotten.

And when Patrick finally comes, he comes hard, all that pent-up frustration of being told he can’t be with his beloved Pete finally vanishing to make way for the greatest orgasm he’s ever had.

Through the haze of his afterglow, he notices how Pete slings his arms around him, gently draws him into a hug. Patrick sighs happily, buries his nose in the curve of Pete’s throat. He can smell sweat and sex and _ Pete _, and even with closed eyes, he can see the faint golden glimmer of Pete’s halo.

They just stay like that for a while, warm and sated in each other’s embrace.

“We should’ve done this sooner,” Patrick mumbles eventually, and Pete chuckles, kisses his forehead.

“Well, I am sure we can make up for all the lost time,” Pete whispers back.

“We sure can,” Patrick says with a grin, “right now, if you want to.”

Pete’s soft smile widens into a dirty grin. “I _ totally _ want to.”

About five minutes later, Pete’s pretty mouth has gone from smirking to sucking Patrick’s cock. He’s worked two fingers into Patrick again, crooks them just right to once more make Patrick moan and writhe as Pete rubs over his prostate.

Pete only stops to ask: “Want a third, dear?”

Patrick nods. He has no idea what the character in his fanfic has done already, but whatever that character said and did, it has nothing to do with him, Patrick, right here, right now. And this Patrick, ever since he came to life in the sacred halls of the Fanfic Factory, hasn’t actually had sex.

Pete gently withdraws his fingers, and Patrick sits up a little.

“’m not sure if I’m actually a virgin or whatever,” Patrick babbles as Pete reaches for the lube. “I mean, technically, I… We never did anything, and...” He trails off, suddenly a little insecure.

Pete turns back to him with a sweet smile on his angelic face. “You don’t need to justify anything. We do this like _ we _ want to do it.”

“I just – feel like I have to _ prove _ something,” Patrick mutters, “like, if I do this wrong, I’ll let down all the other poor Patricks who suffer through terrible bottoming experience. If I do wrong, then maybe – maybe I end up really being the terrible character written for me, maybe I end up really being just a tool, a living, breathing sex toy, a stupid bottom who has sex happen to him rather than with him. I need to do this _ right_, you know?”

Pete looks at Patrick thoughtfully. “We can switch if it makes you feel better?”

“Not really.” Patrick shakes his head, sighs. “I don’t want to top just to defy expectations. I want to do the things I do because I actually want to do them! It’s just – it’s just difficult...”

“You don’t need to justify anything,” Pete repeats softly, with a small smile on his lips, “and if we don’t know how to do this, then we don’t. Fuck it. We can take the time to figure it out together, and try again.”

Patrick smiles back at him, and the tension vanishes. He knows his lovely little angel Pete means what he just said, and Patrick loves him for that, loves that there’s no awkwardness or guilt, just two dudes trying their best to make each other happy.

Well, but their boners haven’t vanished, and Patrick decides to take care of that. He holds out his arms, and a moment later, Pete towers over him, leans in to kiss him. Patrick puts his hand on the small of Pete’s back, urges him closer until their cocks brush against each other. “We’re still getting off,” Patrick growls with as much determination as he can muster. Pete laughs, low and ugly like only he can, and Patrick gives up on being serious and laughs as well.

They stop when Patrick works a hand between their bodies, and wraps it around their dicks. Pete inhales sharply, and a moment later, his hand joins Patrick’s. “Yeah, we’re so getting off,” Pete whispers, and then words are traded for dirty kisses and soft moans as they work each other’s dick. It doesn’t take long to sync up their movements, made more smoothly by the excess lube on Pete’s hand, and it doesn't take long until Patrick comes again, followed shortly by Pete.

Afterwards, they’re laying in each other’s arms again, and Patrick has never felt happier. He’s never going to let go of his Pete.

“I love you,” Patrick whispers in a fond voice, “you know that, right?”

“I always knew,” Pete whispers back, “and I hope you know that I love you, too. Always have, always will.”

Patrick smiles, and they exchange a sweet little kiss, before going back to cuddling.

“We still need to decide what to do about our story outside the Factory,” Pete says in a small voice.

For a while, they both stay silent, each caught in their own little thought bubble, before Patrick jolts up.

“Get dressed, dear. I know what we are going to do,” Patrick exclaims excitedly as he reaches for his clothes. “We are going to write us a better story.”

For a third time, they’re wandering through the dark abandoned halls of the Fanfiction Factory. This time, with a sort of nervous, giddy excitement, and one of Pete’s notebooks. Their story hasn’t been written, but who says they can’t write it themselves?

The flame conjured by Patrick illuminates the case file as they both lean over it, ready to improve on their terrible source material. It’s in disarray, with some of the pages crumbled up and put back in the wrong order, and Pete reaches out to carefully sort through it, lest a bad plot point slips through the cracks.

It is only now that they notice there’s one more page to their story.

With unease, Patrick peeks over Pete’s shoulder, and they both gasp at the same time as they read what the draft details the ending of their story to be.

“I kill you,” Pete whispers weakly, “it says put my sword right through your heart, and kill you.”

“No,” Patrick says firmly, “no, you won’t.”

And with that, Patrick grabs the piece of paper, lets the page erupt into flames, and within seconds, the flames have destroyed all trace of it. Wide-eyed and speechless, Pete watches the orange amber turn black as the ashes crumble to the ground.

“How fierce,” Pete eventually says, torn between shock and amusement. “Are you sure that was a good idea?”

“Look, Pete, I have no fucking clue,” Patrick admits as he goes through Pete’s notebook for an empty page. “But we at least have to try to change our fates. Maybe they’ll make me burn in the Fanfic Factory hell – or, our story’s actual hell – but I don’t care, I won’t go down without a fight. We should be allowed to write our own story. And to hell, whatever hell there is, with anyone trying to tell us otherwise!”

Finally, Patrick finds a blank page. He tears it out of the notebook, holds it out to Pete. Slightly confused, Pete takes the page, and his hesitation only fuels Patrick’s anger.

“Well, we said to write something better,” Patrick says, gesturing towards the empty page. “You’re a Pete. You’re the writer, right? You’re the one supposed to come up with beautiful words that’ll let us grow into something successful, right?”

“I’m not _ a _ Pete. I’m just _ me_,” Pete answers indignantly. “Just because I was based off a character doesn’t mean I share the same traits with all the other iterations. This is _ your _ story, too. We work best when we work together, that’s what I think. So we will compose this, the story of our _ lives_, together.”

Startled, Patrick looks at him with uncertainty. “Really?” He asks, still unsure. “But I am a Patrick, and not one of the sweet, adorable ones. Not even really one of the officially musically talented ones...”

“You’re _ you_. That’s all that matters to me. And I wouldn’t want to write my story with anyone else.” Pete leans in, pecks a kiss to Patrick’s frown. “Now, hush. We need to plan out our lives.”

Patrick smiles at him, takes a deep breath, and nods. “Let’s not get too far ahead, or we will end up in the same dilemma where we evolved into something too different from what the story wants from us,” he proposes. “And not too many details, either. I want us to live our lives, not a predetermined story line. We should get to decide for ourselves, after all.”

Pete makes a vague noise of agreement as he taps the pen against the blank page. “Alright. But let’s go with a happy ending tag, just to make sure...”

And just like that, they go through what’s left of the outline, remedying all the bad parts, from the overt angst to the sad sex scene.

“No being the devil,” Patrick says as he scribbles onto the page, “and no war between Hell and Heaven.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Pete says as he watches Patrick write that down a little more eloquently. “And no hurting each other for any ideology or plot points.”

Pete takes the pen from Patrick, looks thoughtfully at the page in front of him. “Ah, and tons of great sex, of course,” he says as innocently as he can muster, and although Patrick rolls his eyes at him, he still nudges Pete’s shoulder to make him write that down. Just to be sure.

It ends up being a lot less fantastical and dramatic, there’s no convenient three-act structure, and just a simple happy end. In truth, Patrick thinks it would make for a rather boring story to read, probably full of mundane situations, sweet domestic life and rather vanilla smut, and nothing as attention-grabbing or interesting as morally dubious and thought-provoking fights between Hell and Heaven.

Sure, Patrick has no doubt that these grand and difficult stories need to be told, that fiction can and should be challenging, that literature needs to push boundaries and that can’t always be comfortable.

It’s just that he’s not the one to do it. Conceived as the devil or not, Patrick knows that whatever fate had in store for him, he is not the right person to carry such a heavy burden. Somewhere in this factory, there are Petes and Patricks meant for this, who can go out and be brave and set a good example, who are happy to play the difficult parts, who are ready and willing to fight big.

But _ this _ Patrick never asked for any of this kind of responsibility, and he thinks neither him nor his Pete should be forced into anything they didn’t want, into something they don’t even have any kind of influence on in the first place.

“There we go! All done, and I think we did it pretty well,” Pete eventually concludes with a big grin as he puts the pen aside, and reads over their notes.

Patrick nods absent-mindedly, and he can’t help but say: “It won’t always be perfect, Pete. You know us – we will have our arguments and fights, maybe not with swords and blood, but there’s no guarantee for perfect harmony. We are going to live a real life, after all, not act out a fluffy fanfic.”

“I know. But I believe in us,” Pete simply says with such heartwarming honesty, it makes Patrick smile and blush. “Whatever real life holds for us, together, we can manage. And we can still add make-up sex in the tags...”

“Idiot,” Patrick mutters, the fondness in his voice belying the insult. Pete grins at him, then leans in for a sweet little kiss.

Together, they neatly tuck the new pages into their file case. From the outside, it looks as generic and inconspicuous as ever. Hopefully, no one will notice, and hopefully, their plan will work. There’s nothing left to do but wait.

They walk back hand in hand, the glow of Pete’s halo casting a soft golden light over both of them, and they both see a glimmer of hope on the dark horizon.

When the intercom announces the start of a new shift the next day, Patrick has never felt more nervous. He’s so used to hopelessness and apathy, it’s strange to feel anxious and excited and happy again. Today, a whole new world awaits them.

A sleepy Pete with unruly hair and messy eyeliner lays next to him in bed, currently smudging the leftover eyeliner even further as he rubs over his eyes, and yawns. It’s not the dramatically pretty and put together angel Pete from the script, this Pete is messy and smells like sex and sweat and morning breath, but somehow, Patrick finds himself thinking this is as perfect as Pete could ever be.

“Do you think we can do it? That it’ll work? That we won’t ruin everything?” Patrick whispers as he turns his head away, stares at the familiar white walls of his room, with only the red of his suit on the hanger standing out sharply against it. What kind of home will life offer them? Will they ever reach it in the first place?

“We can do it,” Pete whispers back, before he takes Patrick into his arms, buries his nose in the crook of his neck, sighing happily. Patrick smiles to himself as he hugs Pete back, feels the warmth of his body, the soft dawn of his wings, the excitement that rushes through him when he thinks of waking up next to Pete like this again, and again, and again, and as often as they please because no one can tell them otherwise anymore.

Dressed and ready, props in their hands, the script in Pete’s hand, they make their way to the dispatch area. It’s hectic as always, with dozens of characters swarming the place, everyone too caught up in their own stories to notice. And if anyone does notice, they’re nice enough not to call out the anxious angel Pete and his equally nervous devil counterpart, who look just a little lost and scared.

In front of them is the Great Door that’ll lead them outside the realms of the Fanfic Factory and into an unknown alternative universe, co-penned by them, sure, but ultimately, new and unpredictable.

Pete takes a deep breath, then takes Patrick’s hand, sends him a reassuring grin. “We can do it,” Pete says again, with so much excitement and optimism, it makes Patrick chuckle, makes him fall in love with his angel Pete even more.

“We can do it,” Patrick repeats softly, and he leans in to kiss Pete one last time.

In front of them, the bright-white, opening gates reveal nothing but the promise of a life, of love, of everything else they missed out on. And Patrick is so ready to catch up.

Hand in hand, they walk through the gate, and leave the Fanfic Factory behind forever.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! This isn't what I'm usually writing, so I'd love to hear your thoughts on it :)
> 
> Sometimes, characters just have a life of their own, and stories take different turns than expected. That's what makes writing so fun (frustrating, sometimes, but still)! I had lots of fun with this AU, and although the boys have left the FFF and are out of my reach, I trust them to be happy and safe together in the AU they came up with on their own. ~


End file.
